Corn

Somewhere, in the magical lands of Equestria, is a quaint little town, with a quaint little corn-farm owned by a quaint little corn farmer. She lives in an unassuming little log-cabin just outside of the town, off of an old, beaten dirt road. She loves her corn, just as a mother would love a child, and her corn tastes much better for it.

She was enthusiastic about her corn, in every way imaginable. She planted it, she watered it, she cared for it, and she harvested it, treating it with as much love as she would any pony she met. This little farm pony could prepare a corn dish in nearly any way imaginable. She could boil it and butter it, fry it, or saute it. She could turn it into a bread, a pudding, or create a corn-sugar and glaze the individual kernels. Her specialty was popping it.

This pony truly loved her corn, from beginning to end, just as an author loves their story.

And just like a corn seed sprouting into a beautiful stalk, every story starts somewhere.

~~~

"Sweetie? Wake up. Today's the day we start planting our crops." The mare that spoke leaped back in surprise as her little filly, from a dead sleep, jumped up and started squealing excitedly. She ran circles on her bed before barging out of her bedroom. Down, through the hallway of their quaint, one-story farmhouse, the filly trotted with as much enthusiasm as she could muster.

Her mother followed her, a warm smile teasing at her lips as the two left the house. She sat beside her husband on the back porch and watched with him as their little filly grabbed a basket of corn seeds.

"Good morning, corn." The filly's father said as she trotted up to him with a big smile on her face. He took the basket from her and picked her up in the biggest of fatherly bear hugs. "And good morning to you, Corn."

"Pop!" The filly replied. She had meant to say, "Good morning, papa." Unfortunately, she could only speak by popping her lips, or by reciting facts about corn. Why this was, nobody knew. Yet, everyone that knew her understood exactly what she meant.

Corn wiggled from her father's grasp and picked her basket back up before running out into the freshly tilled field. As her hooves pressed into the dirt, giggles rose from her throat. She stopped in the middle of the field, turned circles, and dropped the basket. Her parents watched as she took hoof-fuls of corn seed from the wicker shell and seemingly threw them around in a haphazard manner. To any unwitting bystander, it would look as if she was just throwing the corn seeds wherever she wanted, yet, she knew exactly what she was doing.

Every year, since Corn was old enough to walk, her parents would allow her to plant the corn seeds. Every year, they would grow in elaborate patterns, seen only by ponies that could fly. It attracted a lot of attention to the farm, resulting in their crop being bought up by ponies from all over.

After tossing the seeds around, Corn ran for hours, churning up the dirt and burying the seeds, until she was tired out. Her mother and father picked the tired little filly up and took her inside so she could nap. She dreamt of the coming days and months, when her corn would grow. She dreamt of the day she would get to harvest it, and make ponies all around happy with her crop.

Corn would always wake up, just as they finished watering the seeds. Her parents would stop her from running out into the muddy field, preventing her from burying the seeds too deep, or from churning them up to the surface.

Every day after that, Corn would run around the field, checking up on each and every individual sprout as they grew. She talked to them with her little "pops." She often told them stories about how they would grow up, tall and strong and delicious, before getting to travel all over the world just to satisfy the taste-buds of a lucky pony.

~~~

"Sweetie? It's time to wake up. It's harvest day!" Corn jumped up, excitedly, but was caught almost immediately by her mother. "You're going to have to stay calm, today, remember?" The filly nodded enthusiastically, her light-yellow mane bouncing with excitement.

Corn's mother led her outside, through the back door. Her father sat on the back porch, staring at the sunrise as he rolled an empty corn-cob pipe between his teeth. Two sickles sat beside him, freshly sharpened and ready reap some corn.

"Ready, kiddo?" Her father said, setting his pipe down on the arm of his rocking chair. "Gotta learn how to reap what you sow today." He chuckled softly as he picked one of the sickles up. Corn trotted beside him and picked the other one up, holding it exactly the same way he did. He showed her how to swing it, and she managed it with ease.

Yet, a she and her father approached the corn stalks, she panicked and dropped her sickle. Her father's slashed through the stalks, the corn falling to the ground.

"Pop!" Her father turned to her with a sigh.

"You know we have to do this, Corn. We do it every year. You're gonna have to do it yourself some day." She furrowed her brow, not out of anger or hate, but out of concern. If she had to do this, she would. Picking the sickle back up, she approached the corn stalks. They towered over her, not in an ominous or threatening manner, but almost like they were protecting her.

Tears welled up in her eyes as she lifted the sickle perpendicular to the stalks. They fell, both her tears and the corn, as the sickle tore through them. By her own tool, her friends had fallen.

"Pop." She, of course, meant, "Rest well, my friends." Her mother trotted over to her and gave her a big hug.

"It's alright sweetie. You know how much ponies love our corn."

"Pop!"

"No, not as much as you do, but still. It's how we make a living." She sighed, pulled away from her mother, and went back to reaping the crop. She and her father would cut the stalks down, and her mother would follow close behind, tossing the fallen corn into a large wagon.

It was a process that took several days. It tired the family out, but it was well worth it. By the end of their harvest, they had enough corn to feed a small town for an entire year; enough for them to live off of for quite some time.

And right around this time, every year, there was a large county fair being set up. Corn was always excited to go, though it was a bittersweet day for her.

She had the chance to run around and see ponies from all over with their unique crops, she was allowed to play games, and ride on rides, and she was able to help her parents at their little corn booth. Though, she was always saddened to see ponies come and buy their corn and take it away.

Any time she would start crying, her mother would lead her from the booth to wander around the fair until she calmed down. The county fair always had a bunch of neat stuff. It wasn't just ponies showing off their crops; ponies would come from towns over just to show off their new farming inventions.

One invention had Corn interested immensely. It was a big glass box with a small bowl near the top. The stallion would take a corn cob, strip it of the kernels, and pour them into the bowl. He'd add some butter, and flip a switch that would heat the box up. Soon, popped corn would start jumping out of the bowl and collect into the bottom of the box.

It upset Corn slightly, watching something she loved so much be mutilated in front of her. She made frustrated, almost angry, popping noises at the machine, her nose pressed up against the glass. If she had an extra couple of minutes to fester with her emotions, she probably would have started headbutting the machine. Luckily, the stallion operating it had offered her a bag of the popped corn before she could start.

"Pop!" She sat on her haunches and stared at the bag. Her gaze shifted between the stallion and the treat in her hooves. It smelled good, it looked good, but did it taste good? She stuffed her muzzle into the bag and took a big bite of popped corn. It was really, really tasty. She looked up at her mother with a soft smile. "Pop?"

"I suppose it wouldn't hurt if you stayed here for a little while. Would you mind, sir?"

"Not at all."

Corn sat with the stallion for a while, learning everything she could about popping corn. How to strip the cobs, how to load the machine, how to spread the butter evenly over the kernels, how hot the box needed to be. She was a smart filly; she memorized every little aspect.

"The moisture inside of a hardened corn kernel will expand and pressurize the inside of the kernel when a temperature of about three-hundred-and-fifty degrees is reached, margin of error. The moisture inside of the kernel will begin to mix with the starch and create a gelatinous substance, which will expand and pop and harden when the sufficient temperature is met." Corn stared at the box, watching the kernels pop and bounce around, citing her reasoning on what was happening within the kernels. For nearly the entire time she had been with this stallion, she had only been popping her lips. He was caught rather off-guard.

"I suppose that's right. Never really thought of how it worked, to be honest." Corn started popping her lips again as she continued watching the box. It was magical to her, and it was something she would remember forever. Her mother returned a short while later.

"Come on, sweetie. Your father's just sold the last of our surplus." The filly jumped on her mother's back, a bag of fresh popcorn between her hooves."I see you got something out of all of this?"

"Pop!"

"Yes, sweetie. The popcorn is nice, but I meant something else."

"Pop?" The filly looked at her mother, curiously.

"Your flank, dearie."

"Pop!" Corn looked down at her flank and gasped loudly. She bounced on her mother's back excitedly, almost spilling her popcorn. There, on her flank, was a brand new cutiemark that looked just like the delicious treat she was holding. "Pop?"

"Well, if I had to guess, I'd say it meant you had a knack for farming and cooking corn." Her mother carried her up to her father, who was already pulling a cart filled with bags of bits and the tools he used to set up their booth.

"I see you got your cutiemark." He smiled at his daughter.

"Pop!"

"Yup, looks like our little Corn's popping into a grown up pony." Corn giggled at her father's words. It wouldn't be long until she was the sole proprietor of the farm, and the only pony working there.

Her mother grew sickly and frail; her father grew old and weak. Corn grew older, stronger, and smarter. It was not enough, and her parents passed. She cried, of course, but not for long; the harvest called for her.

And for the first time in her life, she picked up her father's tools and slipped her mother's bandana around her neck, ready to harvest all by herself.

It was a hard day, both physically and emotionally. Ponies watched from afar, and some even tried to help her; she rejected them all, and sometimes threatened them. None of it was taken to heart; many of the local ponies understood what she was going through. Many of them chose well enough to stay away for a while.

In the end, she was, perhaps, more alone than she had ever been.